


a little more 'touch me'

by Anonymous



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: No one in the house is particularly demonstrative, especially with Richard, who usually twitches away from most forms of physical contact, but Jared has always been different from the others.





	a little more 'touch me'

 

  1. _shoulder/arm_



“Hey, Richard?” Jared’s knuckles press into the fabric of Richard's hoodie, a gentle touch that pulls him out of his coding. 

“Yeah?” Richard twists in his seat so he can look up at Jared. “What’s up?” 

“There’s some files that I need you to look over with me before I can send them off. Come with me to the kitchen?”

No one in the house is particularly demonstrative, especially with Richard, who usually twitches away from most forms of physical contact, but Jared has always been different from the others. It’s nothing big - a tap on the shoulder or a hand tugging gently at his elbow to catch his attention. Maybe Jared’s hand will linger sometimes - when Richard is really deep into his work or just a little too sleep-deprived to function - but it’s nothing untoward or strange. Eventually, it becomes so ingrained to expect Jared’s hand on his arm or shoulder when he needs Richard’s attention that Richard’s reaction has become automatic. 

“Yeah, Jared, give me a second,” he says, a distracted frown on his face. There’s a bug in his current code that’s been giving trouble for the past few hours, and he’s just about fixed it. When silence is all that meets his reply, Richard turns to see what the problem is; instead of Jared behind him, though, it’s Dinesh, who looks almost offended. 

Dinesh has an exaggerated frown of distaste on his face. “Did you really just think I was Jared?”

“Um, yes?” A weird sense of unease settles over him at having made that mistake, and Richard shakes his head vigorously as if the movement will somehow clear the feeling. “Sorry? Did something happen?”

It’s only when Jared comes by a few hours later, fingers pressing against Richard’s arm to draw his attention, that the strange feeling from before finally subsides.

 

  1. back



It's terrible and unfortunate, but Richard is really much too acquainted with the ins and outs of puking. This time, it’s a combination of what was probably slightly suspect pork and a clump of hidden cilantro in the tacos he had for lunch. Gagging slightly, he spits up another mouthful of bile into the toilet bowl and feebly wipes his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. 

“Did something fucked up happen at the meeting? ‘Cause if Richard is already stress-puking after we  _ just _ fixed the last problem, then something’s gotta be wrong.” That’s Dinesh, and in the far background there’s a near silent grunt of agreement from Gilfoyle.

“The meeting went fine, actually,” Jared says from somewhere outside. “This seems to be a standard case of food poisoning, which isn't great of course, but much better in terms of Pied Piper’s future!”

“You can tell the difference?”

“Oh, well -" 

Richard tunes out the rest of the conversation and curls a little closer to the toilet. Reaching up blindly, he manages to find the handle and flushes away his sickness. This close, the whirling water almost sounds like an ocean wave. 

There's other comforting sensations in the bathroom, too. The cool of the porcelain against his cheek. The slight artificial vanilla scent in the air from the little automatic puffer that Erlich bought in a fit of pique after no one remembered to use the spray freshener. Richard lets himself drift off a little and would almost feel content if it weren’t for his still roiling stomach. 

“Richard?” A knock on the bathroom door accompanies Jared’s soft call. “May I come in?”

Richard assumes that he makes some wordless groan of affirmation or nods or something that conveys assent because a few seconds later Jared is pushing the bathroom door open and kneeling down next to him. 

“I couldn't decide what would be best so I just brought a little of everything,” Jared says. The soft clinking of glasses rouses Richard enough that he pulls his face out of the toilet bowl and slants a glance at what seems to be a tray full of every single mug in the house.

There’s a tentative touch on his hunched back when he doesn’t respond. Jared’s wide palm between his shoulder blades is a warm heat, even through the layers of Richard’s hoodie and button-up. “Just let me know when you’re ready to drink something. It wouldn’t be good if you were to get dehydrated.” 

“Okay” he says, finally, and concentrates on the soothing weight of Jared’s broad hand on his back. It’s even better than the toilet’s flush. “Thank you, Jared.”

 

  1. neck



Richard is running late. Not like, exorbitantly, or whatever, but enough so that it's gotten him a little frazzled. The fly of his pants may or may not be zipped, and he’s struggling his way into a sweater over his button-up.

“Don’t fuck it up,” Gilfoyle calls without looking up from whatever he’s working on.

“This may the only way to feed ourselves, Richard,” Dinesh says in agreement. “Don’t starve us.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys,” he scoffs, but it’s half-hearted at best considering how distracted he is and, you know, the fact that he’s already puked once this morning. 

“Richard.” There’s a hand on his shoulder, and Richard turns to see Jared standing behind him.

“If I may?” Jared asks, gesturing at the mess of fabric around Richard’s neck. His hands  are up and ready, but hovering a polite distance away in case of a possible denial.

“Um, yeah - yeah, sure.” Richard twists around again, trying and failing to straighten out his shirt - either of them. “Do whatever. Just. Quickly. Erlich and I needed to be gone like, ten minutes ago anyway.” 

“What are you? His mom?” Dinesh is watching the two of them suspiciously, squinting his eyes far smaller than necessary.

“Or his wife,” Gilfoyle chimes in.

Richard ignores them, more focused on Jared’s hands than anything else. They keep moving efficiently despite the heckling, smoothing and tugging the fabric where it lies haphazardly into something resembling neatness. Jared’s fingers are soft and strangely cool against the agitated heat of Richard’s neck, and a shiver unfurls its way down his spine, like a stretching cat. 

“There you go,” Jared says, a small happy smile curving up his mouth. “Handsome as ever.” He finishes with a satisfied stroke against Richard’s now straightened collar before taking a step back to admire his handiwork. 

Jared’s still close enough that Richard can easily smell his aftershave, the gentle scent of his soap, and unwittingly, he tilts his head closer, trying to follow the source. 

“RICHARD,” Erlich bellows from somewhere in the driveway. It’s a shock that they haven’t already gotten a noise citation with the volume he’s reaching. “KISS JARED GOODBYE, AND LET’S GO.”

Richard feels himself stepping forward, head tilted up, instinctively to - to do  _ something _ , before he catches himself and stumbles back, almost tripping over the doorway. He can feel blood rushing to his cheeks, turning his fair skin cherry red. 

“Um, thanks for the, y’know, collar thing?” Richard manages to get out, eyes still locked with Jared’s. From the driveway, Erlich has pressed what seems like his full body weight on the horn of the Aviato van, and Richard snaps his attention away and hastily jerks into motion. “I’m gonna go now, bye!”

“Good luck!” Jared calls as Richard sprints as quickly as he can to the van. He trips into the passenger side door right as he reaches it, but at least the embarrassment of that provides a handy excuse the flush darkening the skin of his neck. 

 

  1. head



Richard hasn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, which wouldn’t normally phase him all that much (Pied Piper has really been a crash course in improving his stamina), but a migraine is pounding against every corner of his head like a jackhammer, and it's making his vision go a little blurry.

It’s late - or early, depending on how you look at it - and Richard’s slumped over his laptop in their shared workspace. It’s too much effort to attempt the trek back to his room, much less climb the ladder to his bed. It’s not comfortable out here, but it’s quiet, at least, with only the slight hum of electronics to keep him company. 

There’s a sudden clatter from somewhere - the door to the garage or the kitchen or wherever - and it’s loud enough that it sends another jolt of pain lancing through his skull. The unholy groan Richard lets out is part agony and part twisted desperation. 

“Richard? Is that you?” It’s Jared. Richard can hear him coming closer, his usually soft steps amplified by the pounding in Richard’s head. When the light flips on, Richard flinches, and he pulls the hood of his jacket tighter around his head and huddles as much as he can, like a turtle sinking into its shell.

“M’gotta migraine,” Richard mutters in response, probably not intelligibly. “Turn off the light please.”

“Oh,  _ Richard _ .” That’s Jared’s mom voice - not that Richard calls it that, but Dinesh and Gilfoyle do - and usually it leads to well-intentioned nagging or a worrisome flutter in Jared’s hands. 

There’s a brief touch to the crown of Richard’s head before it retreats. Richard hears the click of the lights flicking off a few seconds later. “Let’s go to the couch,” Jared says. “I have just the thing to help.” 

Richard's too tired and in too much pain to complain or protest, so he goes willingly, albeit sluggishly, when Jared tucks a hand into the crook of Richard’s elbow to pull him up. 

It’s dark in the house, but Jared leads him to the living room with ease, even steering Richard to the left of an incoming wall when a sharp spike of pain threw him off course. 

Richard watches blearily as Jared sits down on the couch, covering his lap with a throw pillow.

“Lay down,” Jared says, patting the pillow in invitation. Somewhere deep down, Richard feels the need to put up some kind of token resistance or refusal, but one look at Jared’s earnest face, shadowed and blurred as it is to Richard currently, withers it away completely. 

Richard carefully sits on the couch next to Jared before turning and lowering his head down to Jared’s lap. The pillow is soft under his head. 

Richard stares blindly up at the ceiling for a few seconds before even that simple action starts to hurt his head. He squeezes his eyes shut again. “I don’t see how this is going to help.”

“I haven’t started yet, silly.” There’s a thread of laughter in Jared’s voice, and Richard focuses on that instead of the ache in his skull. It helps, a little bit. “Just stay still, okay?”

Long fingers comb their way through Richard’s hair, parting the curls and massaging at his scalp as they pass through. With every gentle stroke of Jared’s fingers, Richard feels his migraine ebbing away just a bit more. A pattern forms from Jared’s movements:  temples, brow, forehead, and up into Richard’s hair before cycling back in reverse. It’s slow and soothing, and Richard feels his muscles loosening bit by bit until he’s completely lax in Jared’s lap.

“Better?” Jared asks some time later. It’s been minutes or hours maybe. Richard’s not really sure, but the hands in his hair have stopped and that needs to be fixed right away

“Mmn,” Richard says, meaning  _ yes  _ and  _ don’t stop _ . He pushes up against Jared’s hand like a cat seeking affection. 

Jared’s fingers are still tangled in Richard’s curls when he drifts off fifteen minutes later into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks. 

 

  1. mouth



Richard comes home with a bloodied nose, a split lip, and a rapidly darkening bruise on his cheek.

There had been some minor worry from the rest of the guys when he had first come into the house looking like an extra from an anti-bullying PSA, but when they realized it hadn’t been due to some shady mugging orchestrated by Gavin Belson or some other Silicon Valley villain seeking vengeance, most of them had quickly lost interest. Only Jared had remained in the end, a worried furrow between his brows and a damp washcloth already clutched in his hands. 

“Could you help me with this?” Richard asks, tilting his head up to catch Jared’s gaze. It has the unfortunate consequence of dripping even more blood down his face, and he winces at the wet slickness on his chin. 

“Of course, Richard.” Jared nods firmly, worry replaced by fierce determination. “Let me just get the first aid kit, and I’ll be right with you.” He turns on his heel and heads off to...Richard’s not actually sure where. He’s never actually seen a first-aid kit in the house before. 

\---

“It was so stupid,” Richard complains, sitting on top of the kitchen counter. He waves the frozen bag of peas he’s supposed to be holding to his cheek to emphasize his point. “I tripped over a watering can in the yard. I don't even think it's ours!”

“Stay still, please,” Jared says with a slight click of his tongue in admonishment. “If you keep moving around like that, it'll just get worse.”

Richard obediently stills at that. “Sorry.”

Jared wipes away the dried trail of blood under Richard’s nose and on his chin with a cool washcloth before switching it out for a pre-packaged antiseptic wipe. Richard tries to jerk away from the harsh sting, but Jared holds him still with a gentle, but firm hold on Richard’s chin. 

“I think that’s everything,” Jared says, carefully scrutinizing Richard’s battered face after he’s done patching him up. Aside from the purpling bruise on his cheek and the clean split in his lower lip, Richard is looks as he usually does: a little wired and softly rumpled. 

It’s only then that Richard realizes how close they are, the intimacy of their position. Jared’s hips are nearly cradled by the vee of Richard’s spread knees, and every shift brings them into some sort of contact. This close, it would be nothing at all to pull Jared in, tuck him close against Richard’s body, to have that smiling mouth on his, those broad hands clutching at him. 

“Jared,” Richard says. The kitchen feels too quiet now, all noise swallowed by the tense desire opening in the pit of his stomach. 

“Yes, Richard?” 

Richard closes the distance between, moving carefully like he’s approaching a wild animal. The foot of space whittles down to inches, centimeters. Richard slants his mouth against Jared’s and - 

“Wait,” Jared says, like a rush of cold water, and Richard recoils, jerking back so quickly, it feels like he’s given himself whiplash. 

“Shit - sorry,” Richard sputters, pushing himself even farther back onto the kitchen counter to create some space between the two of them. “Obviously you didn’t, uh, wouldn’t want to - do that. With me, of course not. I’m so - “

“It’s not that,” Jared says, cutting Richard off before he can tumble further into incoherency. That little worried furrow between his brow is back, and Richard wants to smooth it out with his fingers, with his mouth maybe. “I would never refuse you, Richard, especially not this!  But you’re still injured. It’ll hurt your mouth.”

“I don’t mind,” Richard says, probably too eagerly, but he’s past caring at this point. 

“But I do,” Jared insists, hands wringing together anxiously. “I’d rather not do anything to hurt you if I can help it.”

Richard understands the sentiment, and maybe is even moved by it a little bit, but, right now, more than anything, he just wants to kiss Jared. 

“You won’t hurt me,” Richard says. “You never do.” 

They stare each other down for a few endless seconds before Jared breaks under Richard’s steady gaze. “We’ll stop if you’re in pain?” Jared asks. 

“Of course,” Richard says, though nothing in his intentions include stopping. 

It hurts, just like Jared said it would, but it’s a sweet sort of pain, like the kind you get when you can’t stop pressing down on a nearly healed bruise. Richard can’t get enough of it, chasing after Jared’s mouth every time he pulls back even the tiniest bit. 

“Are you alright?” Jared asks when they finally break apart to breathe. He’s unfailingly conscientious despite his kiss-slick mouth and rumpled hair, courtesy of Richard’s wandering hands. 

Instead of replying, Richard pulls Jared back in and kisses him again and again until there’s no pain at all. 


End file.
